


Of Scars and Bruises

by Disenchantedglow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Dark, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Post-War, Rough Oral Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27487864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disenchantedglow/pseuds/Disenchantedglow
Summary: Hermione knew what was best for Harry--what he needed. She always had. Even though what he needed now was so much different than when he was eleven.The war had changed Harry.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 75
Collections: dissendium to dreams





	Of Scars and Bruises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamsofdramione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofdramione/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, K! I hope you have a wonderful day. Thanks for always being so supportive in this fandom! 
> 
> Mad alpha/beta love as always to the amazing bionically who talks me off a cliff daily. And sends Snape memes reminding me to write.
> 
> the aesthetic was made by the lovely Casey, who heard my jumbled vision and delivered more than i imagined.

**Of Scars and Bruises**

It was always like this at first. 

He would politely demur, insisting it wasn't necessary, that he could do without. But by the time he finished, he would be holding the back of her head with both hands, his fingers tangling and pulling at her hair as his cock bruised her throat to match the bruises on her knees.

Hermione knew what was best for him—what he _needed_. She always had. Even though what he needed now was so much different than when he was eleven. 

The war had changed Harry.

He was both more serious and more focused, forced to play the part of wizard-saviour by the Ministry and the clamouring public. He'd killed the Dark Lord, and still they demanded more. And he complied. 

He'd spent the summer before eighth year and most of Winter hols being photographed entering the Ministry for private meetings with Minister Shacklebolt or attending charity galas with Ginny showcased on his arm. He shook hands and kissed babies and smiled for the cameras.

He was humble and mature and _dying_ on the inside. And only Hermione saw it. 

She saw it raging to get out. The need to not always have to be polite and kind and _good._ The darkness that demanded that he take something for himself for one bloody time in his life. The need to be _selfish_.

Ginny was too wrapped up in her fairytale happily ever after to notice anything off with her beloved Harry. She loved him—really, she did—but after the diary and the battle and Fred, she couldn't stand to think of anything less than the perfect happy ending. 

During school breaks Ginny went to the galas and balls, her hand looped around Harry's elbow. She laughed and danced and drank champagne. At school she flirted and fed him bites off her fork and wore his old Quidditch jersey. She was too busy being the popular girl who got the coveted boy to realise that the coveted boy was crumbling inside.

Hermione knew Harry better than he knew himself. It had been her job for seven years to watch him and to support him and to make sure he didn't get himself killed. She protected him from Death Eaters and Voldemort and now she needed to protect him from himself. 

Something was killing him from the inside.

There was no hesitation when she'd figured out what would help harry. What would help him relax and settle back into himself. Something to keep the edge and the dark at bay. Something that Ginny was too busy planning their future to do herself. 

Now when Hermione noticed Harry reach up to rub his scar, and when the tension in his shoulders began to creep back in, she'd sneak into his trunk, steal the map, and disappear to an alcove or broom closet to lie in wait. She'd reach her hand out and drag him in as he passed, pulling him into her hidden room… into his cure… into _her._

Someone had to tend to his scars.

* * *

"Hermione," Harry groaned, his back pressed against the rough stone of the small alcove. "I'm fine. You don't have to—"

"Really Harry? You're fine?" Hermione ran the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear. "How high did you have to fly tonight to take the edge off? How many people did you yell at during practice? Did Sebastian cry again?"

She didn't give him a chance to respond before she nipped his earlobe, catching and holding it with her teeth before releasing it and lowering her tongue and lips to the soft skin of his throat. She drew in a deep breath, inhaling the fading, hours-old scent of his cologne mixed with the more recent combination of broom polish and sweat. It never failed to turn her on—to make her nipples tighten and ache to be pinched as her inner walls moistened and clenched.

There really wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him.

Hermione dragged her hand down Harry's chest, her nails scratching and catching the fabric of his practice jersey as they made their way down his body. She paused briefly at the waistband of his trousers, giving him an opportunity to push her away before she continued her trek, her palm finally cupping his rapidly hardening length. 

Harry released a moaning breath, and his hips canted into her grasp as though silently urging her for more

Hermione's lips tilted in a knowing smirk against the skin of his neck. He was ready. She knew he would be. 

She dropped quickly to her knees, consciously forgoing a cushioning charm on the hard stone on which she knelt. The ancient grey flooring was unforgiving on her delicate skin, the flimsy barrier of her tights doing little to project her. Just the way she liked it. 

Later she'd return to her dormitory and stand in front of the mirror. She'd slowly—oh so slowly—peel off her magically repaired tights, gradually exposing the scraped and bloodied skin covering her kneecaps. She'd gently finger the damaged flesh, relishing the ache of her bruises, reliving every moment she'd spent with Harry. 

She'd always carried her scars with pride.

Harry's gasping breath and his hands fingering her curls snapped her out of her reverie and brought her back to the present moment. Now was for Harry. Later would be for her. 

Hermione brought both of her hands to the placket of his trousers and popped the top fastener. She raised her eyes to his face and watched as his eyes fluttered closed and his brow furrowed.

"We _can't_. Ginny…"

"Is a lovely girl. And one day you're going to marry her and have a house full of children. But she can't do this for you, Harry. She isn't made like us. She doesn't understand. She doesn't _want_ to."

"And you do."

She looked up at him from where she was kneeling her hands paused on the zipper to his trousers.

"And I do."

Ginny was made for slow dances and making love. She was made for light and laughter; made to be spoiled. She would make the perfect society wife and doting mother, full of love and joy. 

She needed to be cherished but she worshipped in return. In her eyes Harry was perfect—he didn't need to be changed or _fixed._ She couldn't give him what he needed because she couldn't _see_ it. Not the way Hermione could.

Hermione had taken care of Harry from even before he’d known he needed her help, and she would probably continue long after he thought it was no longer necessary. They were closer than friends—closer than the families that they'd both lost. It was their job to look after each other now. 

And no one was better at looking after Harry than Hermione. 

Harry's cock twitched, and Hermione kissed it gently through the denim, a quick little acknowledgement of his acquiescence. It was her self-appointed job to not only provide an outlet for his aggression but to also show him her unwavering approval.

She reached her hand inside his pants, releasing a sigh of contentment as her skin finally made contact with his. She brushed the tips of her fingertips along his length, teasing him with the gentle caress, refusing to give him what he really needed until he took it for himself.

Her hands worked in tandem to free his swelling cock from its confines, pushing his trousers low on his arse, relying on touch and memory alone as she refused to tear her eyes away from Harry's face. This was her favourite part and she didn't want to miss it. The part where schoolboy Harry, easygoing Harry, _saviour_ Harry—disappeared and the real Harry, _her_ Harry came out to play. 

Eyes still peering up at him from underneath thick lashes, Hermione ran the tip of her tongue along the seam of his thigh. She huffed out a breath when his cock twitched against her cheek, leaving a smear of precum in its wake. 

Close.

She teased him again, twirling her tongue along the delicate skin of his testicles, drawing each one into her mouth and sucking gently before blowing cool air across the drying skin. She watched him clench his hands against the rough-hewn wall of the alcove. Watched him suck in air in shallow, shuddering breaths. Watched the shadowed skin under his eyes—a sure symptom of his lack of sleep and his _need_ —twitch with each new touch of her mouth against him. 

So close.

"If you're going to fucking do it, do it right."

There he was.

Finally. _Finally._

Harry's eyes snapped open and met hers, his pupils blown wide and almost obscuring the emerald green of his irises. He reached down with both hands, pushing her from her kneeling position to sit back against her heels.

He tore at her shirt, a button pinging against the stone floor as he reached into her neckline to expose her chest. The callused fingers of his right hand slipped into her bra cup and pinched her nipple, drawing a moan from deep within her. His other hand pulled the opposing cup down, leaving her breast exposed to the chilly Scottish night air.

"Now you look a proper slag."

Harry removed his hands from her chest, twisting her nipples one last time. He raised his left hand to her jaw, four fingers on one side of her mouth and thumb on the other as he squeezed, forcing her mouth to open wide. His right hand stroked the silky skin of his own cock, running up the length to gently circle the purpled tip, spreading his leaking precum before returning to tighten around his base. 

He thrust his hips forward, closer to her face, and he drew his shaft along her open mouth, painting her lips with his essence. Hermione darted out her tongue to try to steal a taste. 

"No," he demanded, pulling his cock up before letting it slap back against her mouth, spanking her with his throbbing shaft. "Not until I give permission."

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut at his command, and her hands reached out to steady herself against his hips. She inhaled, taking in his musky scent, the one that would still cling to her at dinner and even still later tonight when she shoved her own hand down her knickers. 

She stifled the mewl that tried to claw its way up her throat, not wanting to distract him with her pleasure. This was for him. Her brain began to shut down any other cognitive thought, resorting instead to mentally chanting his name over and over.

 _Harry. Harry. Harry._

Without warning he was there, the velvety steel of his arousal invading her mouth, filling her completely. She breathed deeply through her nose as his mushroomed head hit the back of her throat and rested there, making her gag at the sudden intrusion. 

Letting him take the lead, Hermione relaxed as best she could. He needed this. Needed to let his demons run free, purging him of the pent-up anger and aggression that he was forced to tamp down in public in order to play his part as the perfect humble hero. Here with Hermione he could be himself. Think only of himself, taking what he wanted without apology. 

Her fingers on his hips worked their way under his layers of fabric until her palms rested flat against the warm skin that stretched taut over his hip bones. He was still so painfully thin. Time enough later to fatten him up. She’d make a note of it. It was her job to take care of him.

She tightened her grip, her fingers digging deeply into the jutting bones, preparing for the onslaught she knew was coming. 

She didn't have long to wait. 

Harry withdrew his member from her mouth, and she let out a gasping breath. Her jaw was sore where his fingers still gripped, and she relished the idea of having to glamour the imminent bruises that only she and Harry would know were there. 

"Fuck, Hermione…"

His chest bellowed with his ragged breath, and he snapped his hips forward, once again surging possessively past her teeth. His fingers left her face only to tangle in the mass of curls at the back of her head. 

"Is this what you wanted? For me to lose control?"

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut at his words as she reveled in the feel and taste and scent of him. He surrounded her, making her forget about school and war and death. Surrounded by his scent, the stench of blood and battle finally left her nostrils. The sound of his heavy panting breaths drowned out the screams of cast spells and sizzling magic. Here, now, all she should focus on was him and the way he made her feel. 

It was freeing. 

His shaft pistoned in and out of her mouth, and she tried desperately to keep up with his movement, swirling her tongue around every inch of his hot skin she could touch. She hollowed her cheeks and groaned, her thighs dampening when Harry's fingers tightened in her hair.

"Are you happy now Hermione?" Harry panted, pulling her curls roughly, jerking her head back and giving himself better access to her wet, warm mouth. His thrusts quickened, and all Hermione could do was try to relax her throat and accept the onslaught of his raw physical desire as he fucked her face. "You drive me barking mad. You push and push and _offer_ until I can't say no. So now you can deal with the consequences. You're going to get all of me, no holding back. This little throat of yours is going to feel me for a week. Every sip of tea, every time you swallow you'll think of me and how I fucked you raw. And when I finish tonight, Hermione, I'm going to paint your face white. You'll be my perfect canvas. My grand masterpiece. The one thing that shows who I really am."

Hermione could only stare at him as he spoke, his eyes and hands and cock rough on her body. She hummed around him in agreement, unable to do anything else. She felt her saliva pool in her mouth and leak out around the girth that split her lips wide. It dribbled down her chin and coated his balls, her scent hopefully marking him as he had done to her. 

She felt those balls tighten now against her chin and his thrusts became erratic. He removed his right hand from the back of her head, a few strands of her hair pulling painfully from her scalp at his harsh retreat, only adding to her arousal. 

"Merlin, I'm going to come, Hermione. You're going to leave your mouth open and take it."

She nodded as best she could within his grip, and suddenly his cock was gone, leaving her barren and shaking. 

His own hand stroked his shaft, and he pointed the tip at her face, preparing to make good on his promise. One. Two. Three strokes and he was gone, coming with a strangled cry as his hot sperm sprayed across her cheek, her chin, her lips. She closed her eyes and accepted his gift, accepted his need to release his pent-up aggression and pain and _hunger_.

Hermione remained on her knees, the hard stone grounding her to reality as she waited for her heartbeat to stop racing and her clit to stop throbbing. She felt Harry gently disentangle his remaining hand from her curls and heard the soft rustle of cloth as he pulled up and refastened his trousers.

"Hermione," Harry whispered. She felt a gentle hand against her cheek and nuzzled into the warmth of his skin. "You okay?"

She hummed a little in her throat and her eyes fluttered open, staring into the relaxed face of her best friend. "Perfect."

He smiled, that shy boyish grin she remembered from their first day on the train. His eyes were back to sparkling emerald, the tight lines of tension around his eyes and mouth gone for now. His chin jerked towards her face. "Want me to scourgify that? I can—"

He was interrupted by a female voice quietly calling his name from somewhere down the hall.

"Harry? Are you here?"

His eyes widened, and he stared at Hermione. 

"Fuck. It’s Ginny. I—"

"Go, Harry. It's fine. We're done anyway. Don't let her find you here."

"You're sure? I can…" He waved his wand again at her face, silently offering to clean his drying semen from her skin. 

Hermione stood up and shook her head. It didn’t matter that she was still in a state of undress, his seed dripping down face. _He_ was more important than any discomfort she might feel. She looked Harry over and cast a whispered siphoning charm, removing all the bodily fluids that remained on his skin. Once done, she shoved him out from behind the tapestry that hid the alcove from prying eyes. He needed to find Ginny before she stumbled upon them.

Alone now, Hermione leaned against the wall and took a shuddering breath, the back of her head tender against the hard stone where Harry had pulled her hair so roughly. She heard his muffled footsteps walk quickly away and then the exclamation as the couple found each other. 

"Ginny!"

"Harry! There you are! Didn't you hear me calling for you?"

"No? Sorry, I had a silencing charm up." Hermione could imagine the sheepish tilt to his lips. He was so charming, so boyishly handsome, Ginny would never suspect him of lying.

"What are you doing down here? You didn't come back up to the common room with the rest of us, and I got worried."

Hermione's breathing sped up a notch. They couldn't afford to have Ginny get suspicious. Nothing could get in the way of Ginny and Harry's relationship. The Wizarding World needed their power couple, their symbol of hope and love after war. 

"I, um, just needed a little time to myself after practice to cool down. I, um, let myself into one of the abandoned classrooms. I know I was a right git..."

"But what were you _doing_ in there?" Ginny's voice raised at the end of the question. 

Harry stumbled over his response. "Just, um, blowing off steam. Thinking about things, practicing blasting hexes…"

There was a long pause after Harry trailed off, and Hermione clenched her hands against the stone wall, silently mouthing a prayer to any deity that Ginny would believe everything Harry was telling her.

"Was Hermione with you again?"

_No, no, no._

This could ruin _everything._

"W-what? Hermione? Why would Hermione have been with me? I haven't seen her since after class."

"Isn't that her perfume? I can smell it on your shirt. Don't _lie_ to me, Harry!"

Hermione's heart stopped. 

_Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit._

_Please, Harry. Think of something. Use that damn Boy-Who-Lived luck, and tell her_ something _she'll believe._

"Perfume? Gin, you know I don't pay attention to stuff like that. Last I saw Hermione was after Transfiguration. I walked with her to the library—oh! I did help her with her bag. Maybe that's why?"

"Hmm. Maybe? I guess that's it if you haven't seen her since." Ginny sounded doubtful, like she was mulling over the possibility. Hermione wondered if Ginny was thinking about that day last week when she'd caught the two of them whispering in the hallway. Or about yesterday when she'd pointed out the bite mark on her neck that Hermione had forgotten to glamour. The resulting interrogation as to its origin had been entirely too close for comfort. 

Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding. Ginny could obviously sense something was off with Harry, but seemed willing to drop it in order to keep the peace. 

Harry's trustworthy reputation had come through again. As long as he was able to keep his life with Ginny separate from the help she herself gave him, everything would be fine.

Ginny _wanted_ to believe the lie, and Hermione willed her to do so.

"Hey Gin, let's go take advantage of the empty common room while everyone else is down at dinner. You can help me get clean." His voice had gone husky with the promise of sexual fulfillment, and Hermione's nipples tightened in automatic response. 

Ginny though, seemed more unaffected than usual. "That sounds great, Harry, but maybe later? I can _scourgify_ you here if you need it. We need to go down to the Great Hall. I promised Lavender I'd show her the photo of the dress I chose for the Remembrance Gala next month. She's just going to _die_ when she sees the slit up the side."

The voices faded as they walked away from Hermione's hiding spot. She smiled to herself. Good enough. Harry was taken care of, at least for now, and Ginny had been suitably distracted. Hermione could take care of any other lingering suspicions she had later. 

But for now she'd stay hidden in the darkness and revel in the bruises Harry had left on her body.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired by two lines in Bad Guy by Billie Eilish: "Bruises on both my knees for you, don't say thank you or please" and "you said she's scared of me? I mean, I don't see what she sees but maybe it's 'cause I'm wearing your cologne" i couldn't get them out of my head as I wrote this.
> 
> The fic title is borrowed from lines of a poem by Erin Hanson, She's an amazing poet!  
> "This universe has a language,  
> That the world we live in uses,  
> But it's not made of twenty-six letters,  
> It's made of scars and bruises..."
> 
> seriously, go read her poetry it's so beautiful.


End file.
